A Hat, Perhaps?
by Polgaria
Summary: A little friendly Miranda and Andrea interaction ensues when the editor notices Andy's new haircut. This is canon the MOVIE version, because there IS no section under 'movies' for DWP. That's all. PLEASE R&R, I eat reviews for breakfast, lunch and supper.


Andy Sachs, second assistant to the notorious Miranda Priestly, sat nervously behind her desk, twining an absent hand around the latest development in Chanel's necklace line. While she'd received several pointed glares from the aloof Emily which clearly stated to _calm the bloody hell down_, the young woman couldn't help herself.

When the phone began to ring, Andy nearly fell out of her chair and looked imploringly at curt young Englishwoman, who merely ignored her plea and snapped her fingers briskly in the direction of the insistently ringing device. Trying to take a calming breath and succeeding only in choking on the air, Andy picked up the phone and hoped her voice was calmer than she felt.

"Miranda Priestly's office," she managed to force, though the indelicate hiccup between the proper and surname of Runway's editor in chief belied her impending hyperventilation. "I'm sorry, Ms. Priestly is out of the office at the moment, may I take a message?" Andy pulled her keyboard towards her, screeching the feet across the glass desk and earning herself another grimace of disdain from the first assistant. "Yes, the preview for the Isabel Toledo line was moved up to this afternoon- no, I can't reschedule it for later." Andy rolled her eyes at this. As if anyone in their right mind would back peddle a decision coming from Snow Queen herself. "Yes, that's fine. Miranda is expecting everyone here at three. Goodbye."

The frazzled young woman hung up the phone and exhaled loudly through pouted lips, a signature move which usually lifted equally signature bangs off of her forehead in an endearing display of frustration. Andrea rolled her eyes upwards, confirming again the lack of such accessory. Frantically, she ran a shaking hand through her closely cropped hair and prayed to god, fashion or otherwise, that Miranda Priestly was not going to fire her.

"I don't know why you're so bloody worried," came the disinterested goad from across the two desks separating Andy and her counterpart. "You're the one who decided to cut it in the first place."

Andy bit her lip. As true as it was, Emily did not understand the extenuating circumstances which prompted the abrupt modification of Ms. Sachs' usually chic coiffure. Frankly, Andy wasn't sure she wanted anyone to understand why, in a fit of outraged disgust the previous evening, she taken a pair of fabric shears to her head and all but balded herself. Thank god she'd managed to get in early, disguised in a Stephen Jones hat, so someone in the beauty department could at least attempt a couture remedy on the hack job she'd made of her hair. Just as Andy was contemplating the replacement of said hat, the telltale strut of Miranda's shoes approaching the boarder of her domain echoed through the quiet office. Torn between hiding under her desk and fainting outright, all Andy could do was force another lungful of air before the platinum haired, dangerously gorgeous woman stalked through the door like a predator. A predator wearing a pair of seven hundred dollar Givenchy shoes.

Miranda Priestly, her morning tirade started possibly before she'd even entered the office, flung a heavy coat and audacious bag onto Andy's desk. For her part, Andy was grinding her now eidetic memory into gear before she lost some crucial tidbit concerning some random scrap of paper, or that place with the stuff Miranda decided to remember and covet on that particular day.

"…and remember that the Toledo preview is today, so for the sake of my quickly waning sanity, do not under any circumstances let some smooth talking lackey confuse you into rescheduling." Miranda chose that precise moment to actually look at her young assistant while she was rhyming off demands. Andy, who'd been keeping one eye trained on the volatile editor, noticed the intense slate eyes of her boss widen slightly at the painfully evident modification of her second assistant's appearance. The young woman watched in horror as the surprise in those intense irises narrowed into a glare of supreme disapproval, whatever trace of blue there had been replaced by harsher than steel grey. Those eyes bore into the soft, chocolate gaze of the petrified Andy until the young woman could actually feel tears welling up because she hadn't dared to blink. Miraculously, Miranda broke the contact first, if only to cast a second condemning glance at Andy's hair.

"That's all," she offered coolly before she retreated into her inner sanctum, presumably to spare herself the offensive view of any more barely salvaged hair-related train wrecks. Andy slumped in her chair and chanced a look at Emily, who was smirking cruelly as she tapped away on her keyboard.

The rest of the morning passed by uneventfully enough and just when Andy had actually managed to convince herself that she wasn't going to be strangled, or worse, fired, a slightly bored sounding voice emanated from within Miranda's office.

"Andrea."

Andy froze in the midst of the schedule she'd been reworking for the tenth time that day and slowly, torturously rose from her chair and forced herself to walk into what was most certainly going to be a nasty comeuppance within the den of the lioness.

Miranda looked up from her work, glasses perched delicately on the end of her classic aquiline nose. "Close the door, Andrea."

The door. Andy pushed the heavy gate of hell shut, feeling very much as though she'd sealed her fate as the thing clicked ominously closed. She stood, willing herself not to tremble under the unyielding stare of her infamous employer.

"Sit," came the next demand.

"W-what?"

Miranda rolled her eyes heavenward. "As it escapes you Andrea, it's what you do when you pull out a chair, put your body into it, and take the weight off of your feet."

Perplexed, Andy moved carefully towards the chair, for fear her rapidly weakening legs would give out and send her sprawling over the shallow glass desk into Miranda's lap. No one sat in Miranda's office. Not once had Andy ever seen _anyone _making use of the espresso leather chairs that sat so uselessly between Miranda's gleaming desk and the gateway to the rest of Runway. And yet she sat in one now. Did Miranda require that she sat while being fired? Somehow, the idea seemed so absurdly funny that a small bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst from Andy's quivering lips.

Miranda chose that moment to remove her glasses, toying with the sleek, clear frames before casually inserting the tip of one arm into her small, full mouth. Piercingly, she studied the young woman, and a hint of mirth played about the small creases near her slate- no, were they cobalt now? Andy bit her lip. That wasn't right. Cerulean? Yes, that was it. Miranda's eyes had gone absolutely cerulean. The young woman found herself strangely glad that she knew the difference.

When a telltale eyebrow rose it's way gradually to half mast on the delicate porcelain forehead of her boss, Andy realised she must have been staring. She tried desperately to school her features, failing miserably as her large eyes grew impossibly wider and her full lower lip continued to alternately quiver or succumb to a nervous assault between her front teeth. Why in god's name was Miranda looking at her like that? With that hint of sparkle in her _definitely _cerulean eyes? This was a far cry from the usually sadistic glint of ice and storm Andy found herself subjected to on a daily basis. In fact, this was completely fucking unprecedented. Maybe she _was_ getting fired. The terrified Ms. Sachs found herself pulled back into the present by a low, amused voice.

"Breathe, Andrea."

"Huh?"

Miranda's eyebrow ascended higher. "Unless you've miraculously evolved the talent of aerobic respiration, you may want to consider inhaling. Sooner, rather than later," she added, dryly.

Andy took a deep, quavering breath, and exhaled slowly. Miranda continued to watch her with that goddamn unnerving look on her face. It was making the young woman more fidgety and uncomfortable by the second. Squirming in her seat, Andy resolved to get this over with.

"Miranda, I'm sorry about my ha-

The older woman waved the apology away flippantly. Andy shut up.

"I am…curious as to why you would decide to change your personal appearance so," Miranda paused, cocking her regal head slightly to the side while searching for a suitable end of phrase. A smirk caught the corner of her mouth. "Drastically."

Andy's mouth hung open. Getting the better of herself, she tried to fabricate a response. "I- uh. I- phew. I just thought-" Tried and failed.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Before you insult either of our intelligence," she began in a dangerously quiet timbre, "by delivering whatever ill-conceived _lie_ was about to leave those prettily pouting lips of yours, I suggest you reconsider."

Andy heard herself squeak out a small noise of protest and mentally smacked herself. Why in Christ could she not speak in the presence of this silver haired woman? She tried taking another deep breath, and it helped. In a quiet voice, Andy Sachs settled on the embarrassing truth.

"After I dropped off the book last night, I told Roy that I was going to walk for a bit and take the subway home. I was just sitting there, in the train, and I don't know if I fell asleep or if I just wasn't paying attention- I- god." Andy stopped, tasting bile in the back of her throat at the memory. Miranda regarded her with a look that on anyone else might have been mistaken for concern. "Anyway," the second assistant continued, "I was just sitting there, but when my stop came and I tried to stand up, I couldn't because this _man_ was sitting behind me with his- his hands wrapped in my hair and he was- he just looked like a normal guy in a suit but he was _smelling_ my hair and he had it in- in his mouth- and-" Andy's body at this point visible convulsed.

Miranda hastily stood, murmuring, "Oh no you don't," as she directed the now heaving girl into her private washroom. As Andy threw up what appeared to be only coffee, Miranda rested a hand gently on the small of the girl's back, her thumb caressing in what she hoped was some facsimile of a comforting gesture. When Andy calmed and stood up, Miranda handed her a tissue, gazing at her with unmistakeable sympathy warming her eyes to a deep lapis. The young woman, regaining some sense of her surroundings, regarded the editor in horror.

Almost to herself, she murmured in a meek, disbelieving voice, "I just _puked _in front of Miranda Priestly."

Miranda's hand flew to her mouth, Andy assumed in disgust. What she wasn't expecting was a low, amused chuckle which quickly progressed into a warm peal of laughter.

Dumbfounded, the young woman just stood there, though the older woman didn't miss the look of hurt which ghosted quickly over the girl's innocent features.

"I- dear god," Miranda tried to get a hold of herself. Still chuckling, she tried again. "I'm not laughing at you, Andrea."

The young woman shot her a pointed look which clearly stated she thought the opposite.

Sobering, the older woman tried again. "I'm not, it's just you looked so earnestly horrified for a moment- but, well, never mind." Miranda looked again at the rapidly shifting expression on Andy's face, then to the girl's hair. "So you cut it off yourself."

The girl nodded mutely and turned to gaze at herself in the mirror. "It's awful, isn't it? Melvin tried to fix it this morning in Beauty, but obviously there wasn't much to save."

Miranda moved to stand just slightly behind her second assistant, and regarded the girl's reflection in the mirror. "Well, Holocaust chic wasn't meant to come in for another year, but-"

"Miranda!" Andy cried indignantly.

"Sorry. Having Jewish heritage sometimes leads me to believe I can get away with grievous slips and slides in political correctness."

"Did you just make a joke. Wait. Did you just _apologize_?"

Miranda narrowed her eyes, but the colour of deep cobalt revealed the continuing repartee. "Really, though," began the older woman with very rusty tact, "It's not so bad. Look," she ran her long fingers lightly through the short chestnut waves, instantly arranging them into a more pleasing style. "There."

Andy scrutinized herself in the mirror. "I can't believe this."

Miranda took in the dejected slump of the girl's shoulders and felt a pang of unusual tenderness. "Do you need to speak to someone- a counsellor? We have several excellent people on call- mind you, they're usually dealing with distraught models, but-"

The young woman sighed. "I don't know. This all seems so ridiculous. I mean- he didn't really _do_ anything to me-"

"Bullshit," the older woman offered suddenly. Andy was stunned. "He violated you, and nobody deserves that. Not for taking the subway late at night, not for wearing perfume, not for being attractive. It is _not _acceptable."

Andy turned abruptly, nearly nose to nose with this enigmatic woman who was suddenly defending her virtue. Her large, chocolate eyes shone and filled quickly with tears. With all the sincerity she knew how to summon- which was quite a bit- Andy looked directly into the, were they cobalt now? Yes. Andy looked directly into the most certainly cobalt eyes of Miranda Priestly and said, "Thank you." A lone tear slipped quickly down the girl's pale cheek.

Almost without thinking, the older woman absently brushed the tear away with soft fingers and pulled the girl into a strong embrace. A sob caught in Andy's throat at this honest display of compassion, and she clung to Miranda tightly, comforted by the fresh scent of the older woman's perfume. Miranda didn't move, except to run her fingers lightly through the girl's short, soft hair. When Andy pulled away, she gazed at Miranda with nothing short of wonder in her large eyes, now glowing a warm amber.

"Not a word, right?" Andy said softly.

"I always knew you were intelligent," the older woman quirked a wry smile.

As the young woman moved to leave her office, Miranda called out, "Be sure to let Roy drive you home tonight, Andrea."

The young woman nodded gratefully.

"Oh- and Andrea?"

Andy turned around. The older woman was smiling at her, eyes shining with mirth. "Yes?"

Miranda Priestly was sporting a wicked grin. "Perhaps a hat?"


End file.
